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“But why won’t he call me?” I’m repeating myself, and maybe I’m being ridiculous. He’s made a move.
I suppose it’s my turn.
An exasperated sigh leaves my mother. “Just call him, Scarlett. Tell him how you feel.”
Grabbing my phone, I watch as she crosses the room and drops a kiss on my forehead, smiling down at me. “You’re so lucky.”
“Why?”
“To be so young and madly in love. You found a good one, darling.”
Before I can say anything in response, she exits the room, leaving me alone, and I stare at the phone for a moment before I bring up Tate’s number. I stare at the contact page, his name becoming blurred the longer I look. My nerves paralyze me completely. I want to call him.
I do.
But what if...
What if what? All my worry is futile. He won’t reject me. He’s probably waiting for me. Anxious.
Giving in, I hit the button, and the phone begins to ring.
Tate answers on the second ring, breathless when he says my name.
“I saw your performance,” is what I greet him with.
He’s quiet for a second. “What did you think?”
“I loved it.” I pause, taking a deep, fortifying breath. “I love the new song.”
His laugh is full of relief, and I smile, wishing I were with him. “I wrote that for you, Scar. And I meant every word I said. I am lonely for only you.”
“Did you mean what you said to the host before you performed?” I clutch my phone tighter, needing to hear him say it.
“About being in love with you?” He exhales roughly. “I wish you were with me so I could say it to your face.”
“Well, you’re not. So say it now to me over the phone,” I demand, then realize how awful I sound. “Please,” I add, my voice a raw whisper.
He actually chuckles, and the sound washes over me, reassuring my chaotic thoughts.
“I love you, Scarlett. I fell in love with you, and I don’t want you to ever leave my side again. Come back to Los Angeles. Come back to me,” he says softly.
I close my eyes, exhaling with relief. “Tate.”
“I can’t stand not having you here with me. I miss you too damn much. And before you say something about photographers and reporters or whatever, just know they’ve left the house. They’re gone. They’ve moved on to the next scandal. Besides, how scandalous can we be, if we actually love each other? Because we do love each other, right?”
Oh, he sounds worried.
He’s so silly.
“I love you,” I whisper into the phone. “And I miss you.”
He’s smiling. I can hear it in his voice when he speaks.
“I love you too, Scar.” Only the slightest hesitation before he says, “Come back to me.”
* * *
Less than twelve hours later, and I’m in Los Angeles, having just landed thanks to my dad pulling a few strings that allowed me to use the Lancaster family jet to fly to California.
